Sinning Hands
by Mrs.Monster
Summary: If you think of Teeth in the Grass as a refrigerator, these are the things that have been growing in the back. Don't eat them. On going series of outtakes.


_**(Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Sherlock. No copyright infringement intended. **_

_**From chapter two of Teeth in the Grass: "…and then there was the time she'd ripped his clothes off in the morgue and they'd made use of one of the examination tables." )**_

_**Sinning Hands**_

**..**

The case had been easy, entirely too easy. One body, solved in a look, and Molly was left wondering why DI Dimmock had even bothered to call Sherlock and John in. It had been obvious even to her, and so she could understand Sherlock's current frustration. What she _didn't _understand was why he had to be frustrated in her morgue, while she was trying to determine the cause of death of an apparently healthy thirty-eight year old man.

Molly's eye twitched as he let out yet another loud sigh, and she looked over at him sitting in her office chair next to the utilitarian metal desk. He had what looked like a toxicology report dangling from his fingers and was brushing it absently over the desk top, twisting back and forth in the chair. He was slumped down, head resting against the back, and he turned a full circle in the chair, scrunching up his long legs to clear the space next to the desk before stilling, sighing again. Molly's hand tightened around her scalpel and turned back to Mr. Robb's cold blue cadaver.

"Aren't you done yet?" he asked impatiently.

"No, I am not," she said, not bothering to look up, words muffled behind the blue mask she was wearing. "I have to-"

"He was murdered."

Molly stilled, slowly looking up at him. Sherlock was still slumped in the chair, eyes closed, fingers fiddling with the papers strewn across her desk. "What?" she asked.

"Mm. Someone injected him with a rather large amount of insulin. Check between the fourth and little toes on his left foot."

After sterilizing both her tools and her hands, Molly did, discovering, sure enough, a miniscule puncture wound.

"Had you sent his blood work out before hand, you would have discovered that much sooner, and then we wouldn't have to be here."

"I did send it out, thank you very much. The labs are just backed up at the moment. And you are more than welcome to leave at any time, you know."

Sherlock hummed reluctantly. "I want to wait for you." He spun in the chair again.

Molly shook her head and set about putting Mr. Robb back in his refrigerated drawer. Sherlock may have been what John described as an _emotional cripple_, but at times he would say the simplest things that if taken at face value meant little. With Sherlock, though, you couldn't take anything at face value, and when he said he wanted to wait for her, it meant that he wanted to spend time with her. Not just bedroom time, but legitimate time. Suddenly his sulking and sighing didn't seem to bother her nearly as much.

"You should probably put in a call to the Yard. I'd say that it was the wife, but she seems to be away, possibly on holiday. I would suggest looking into other female relatives; any in a medical profession, or that suffer from diabetes, obviously."

"Yes, obviously. I'll include it in my report."

She shut the door on Mr. Robb's drawer and set about cleaning the table he'd been laying on, spraying it down, and washing the crimson tinted water down the drain set in the tile floor. With the industrial smell of chemicals thick in the air, Molly moved toward her desk, intent on finishing her official report on the death of Theodore Robb. Another sigh escaped Sherlock before he levered himself out of her chair and offered it to her, scooting her close to the metal lip of the desk after she sat. Pulling a pen out of the top desk drawer, she retrieved a fresh file from the one beneath it. She was heavily aware of Sherlock standing behind her, and she wasn't a sentence or two into the report before Molly felt his hands on her shoulders, stroking down to the lapels of her lab coat. His breath was warm on her neck, making her shiver pleasantly as he began to tug the coat off.

It fell to the floor and Molly knew she was done for when his lips just barely grazed that spot right underneath her left ear that always made her toes curl. Sherlock was well aware of that little spot, along with many others, having grown intimately familiar with them over the past three months or so.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" she asked anyway, canting her head to the side a bit to grant him better access.

"Bored," he mumbled against her skin. Long fingers trailed lightly down her arms, and she bit her lip, wavering between her sense of professionalism and the hot curl of want that was happening somewhere in her middle. Sherlock's tongue joined his lips, and she began pushing back from the desk. _To hell with professionalism. _

If Molly was, at times, a little overzealous with the allowance that was granted her to touch Sherlock, she didn't think that there was a single woman who'd ever met him that would blame her. Not even Sally Donovan, whose nastiness toward the man she was currently stripping of his shirt always held that bitter tone of rejection. Molly's cold hands slid across his bare shoulders, bringing him down to her for a heated kiss. His nimble fingers were making quick work of the tiny buttons that ran down the front of her dark blue blouse, hands sliding inside, over the smooth skin of her stomach to her back once they were all unfastened.

A shudder of pleasure stole across her as he freed one hand to loosen the button and zipper of her brown slacks, tucking his first two fingers into the edge of her panties, sliding around to cup her bare bottom. Molly moaned opened mouth kisses across his chest, fumbling with his thin leather belt. Sherlock's head fell back, Adams apple bobbing as her lips found his nipple, tongue flicking out to tease before her slightly calloused fingers pushed his trousers and boxers down just far enough to release him.

Those wonderful musician's fingers slid up her body and tangled themselves in the thick fall of her hair, pulling her lips up to his before he batted her hands away and turned her, pulling her firmly against his front. Molly realized with dawning horror that he was aiming them for the examination table she'd just cleared Robb off of, and held her hands up in front of her.

"_Jesus, _Sherlock. Not that one!"

He stopped in his tracks. "What? Why- oh, of course." Altering his trajectory, he propelled them toward the one next to it, bending Molly over the metal lip of the table. The cold air of the morgue was nearly stinging against her bare, heated flesh as Sherlock shoved her trousers down to pool at her feet. Her hair spilled around her face as he used his knees to spread her legs further, and she felt him, thick and hard against her.

Molly gripped the edge of the table as he eased inside of her, the pleasant and familiar stretch of her body around his, her moan echoing around the silent room. Both hands gripped her hips when he began to move, setting the hard, slow pace he knew she liked. The metal table rocked with each thrust, joints squeaking under the rhythmic movements. It felt as though there was a storm raging inside of her, bolts of pleasure shooting through her body as she began pushing back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust.

Sherlock's hands slid up from her hips, pushing her loose blouse up her back until he reached the clasp of her bra. Her breasts fell free as he deftly unhooked the black lacy material, and he quickly replaced it with his hands, pulling her body up and then back, practically shoving her back upward with his own. The small sounds that he made between body-jarring movements always enhanced her pleasure, and Molly began to feel the glorious tingle spreading from her core through her entire body.

Neither of them cared who may have overheard while passing in the corridor as they simultaneously reached their peaks, Sherlock's muttered, "_Hell,_" making Molly's cries of fulfillment ring louder. Sherlock's entire body arched against hers before slumping against her back as he attempted to catch his labored breath.

They redressed, Molly's movements slightly shaky as Sherlock appeared as unruffled as usual, if a little smug. She knew that she would never be able to concentrate on paperwork after that, and vowed to come in early the next day to finish up.

"So," she asked, still slightly out of breath. "Yours or mine tonight."

Sherlock tucked his white button up back into his trousers. "Yours. John has Sarah over tonight."

"You mean Jessica," Molly corrected, picking her lab coat up off the floor.

"Whoever." Sherlock pulled his suit jacket on, straightening the lapel.

Sherlock dropped back into the desk chair as Molly went about her end of the day routine. It was several minutes before he spoke again.

"Molly?"

"Hmm?"

He sighed. "I'm bored again."

* * *

**Author's Note: For you, my darling readers! This fandom is like one big brainy orgy of love, and it's wonderful. I'll be posting any other Teeth in the Grass outtakes I think of right here. And you know what? I am open to suggestions. **

**Anything you want to see TitG Sherlock/Molly do? Or even John, Mrs. Hudson or Lestrade. Mycroft? Flashbacks, scenes over the skipped five months you'd like to see? Leave me a review or PM me, and I'll (probably) make it happen. **

**Next chapter of Teeth is almost done, and I'll have it up in a few days. **


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